


The William Graham Case

by stolenwatermelon



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Hannibal (TV) Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Eccentric psychologist Hannibal, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, FBI Trainee Will Graham, Fix-It of Sorts, Fwum fwum pendulum, Gen, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, M/M, Might lock Will in a basement, Multi, Murder Husbands, Or just them eating croissants in the South of France, Other, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Probably going to get very dark or kinky, Psychological Horror, Someone Help Will Graham, not sure yet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:15:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27842110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stolenwatermelon/pseuds/stolenwatermelon
Summary: "Will Graham, a curly-haired, troubled-looking young FBI trainee, is walking down the corridor with a book under his arm..."[I wrote this wondering, what would happen if Will and Hannibal had met years earlier?I'll update this and the tags as I figure out what this story is actually gonna be!]
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Kudos: 22





	The William Graham Case

_ The prow of the liner tears through the emerald Atlantic, throwing up crowds of foam on either side.  _

_ Hidden in the convenient shadows of the deserted deck, two men lag behind the dinner crowds to gaze at the white-capped ocean.  _

_ The taller man’s arm is around the shorter man’s waist. The shorter man’s head is resting on the taller man’s shoulder. No one is near. They are alone, facing the vast ocean... _

_ They could be anyone. Scandinavian sailors, tropical fruit merchants, Polish prize-fighters... And they could be headed anywhere.  _

_ The water churns on either side of the prow, as the tangerine sky darkens to arterial red. _

∞

_Five years earlier..._

A late October morning. Air crisp and smoky, leaves vermillion.

Quantico FBI Training Academy. One of the glass tubes running beneath the buildings in an interconnected maze known as ‘gerbil tubes.’

Will Graham, a curly-haired, troubled-looking young trainee, is walking down the corridor with a book under his arm. He’s walking with a slight lean, as if having recently been injured.

Beside him walks his friend and sort-of mentor, psychologist postgraduate Alana Bloom, who does part-time work for the FBI.

“Hey, Graham,” said Alana. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

“Yeah?”

“I know you mentioned you’ve been really struggling with everything."

"Ah."

"It's okay—I have been too, to be honest.” Will thought this was unlikely, but appreciated the lie. “All the ‘I thought he had a gun’, turns out it was a kid holding a banana kind of stories... Enough to give anyone nightmares.”

“I don’t like firearms,” he said.

“Are you thinking of going back to boat mechanic-ing? Or whatever it’s called?”

Will thought about the greasy feeling of oil and dirt that never washed off in the shower no matter how much soap he scrubbed with, the days spent in extreme temperature conditions in painful squatting positions, the endless log-keeping, the fussy boat owners, the moving around to find jobs.

He compared it to his new life, sipping a home-made Martini, pouring over schizophrenic serial killer poetry, cult mass suicides, files on trafficking and crack houses... it was such unpleasant work, but he couldn’t help take pride in the idea that he, Will the new boy, was not just accepted but might even be considered somewhat talented.   


“I don’t want to quit, but—” he was cut short by a rapid burst of gunfire. The FBI training academy overlooked many outdoor firing ranges.  He had developed a nervous, twitchy tic since he moved there. One of the introductory workshop teachers had said to expect ‘disturbances’ when undergoing training, especially during Intimate Violence week.  


Again, like layering two strips of 16mm film in the projections of his mind’s cinema, he compared the stink of firearms cleaning solvent on his clothes now, to the noxious chemical fumes he inhaled fixing engines.

“I love it when you ignore me.”

”Sorry, what?” Will had zoned out (that never used to happen).

“I’ve got a friend who does exposure therapy and hypnosis. He might be able to help you out.”

“I’m really not into that stuff.”

“He’s worth meeting, anyway. You’ll see what I mean.”

She smiled at him. She smelled of floral shampoo. Conversations with her were a relief amid the intensity of the training.

“I feel like you really want me to be the best version of myself. It means a lot.”

“Someone as talented as you, you could do lots of things. I know you’re training here, but a word of wisdom... Keep one foot out. Get something on the side, or this job will eat you up.”

“That's kind, Alana, but I don’t have the credentials for much else.”

They reached the café, removed their jackets, slid into a booth. Alana ordered green tea, then changed her mind, and ordered coffee. Will ordered hot chocolate.

“I mentioned you to him—just in the context of a colleague looking for someone. He’s coming here soon so I can give him these documents.” She gestured to a red folder in her bag. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you could make some kind of arrangement with him.”

“Can you pass the sugar? And Alana, you didn't have to do that. Really," said Will.

“Just meet him—he’s a character. Will, Jesus, are you going to have any drink with that sugar? ”

Will didn’t stop spooning. “Who is he?”

“I met him a long time ago.” Her eyes went a bit misty. 

“What’s his role at the FBI?” Will asked gruffly. He took a sip then hissed. It was so hot it was like drinking acid.

“None, technically." Alana noticed him burning himself and grinned. "He’s a psychologist.”

“What’s his name?”

“Dr Hannibal Lecter, with emphasis on the Dr... He’s European, cares about good manners—not in a boring way, though. I have never, never heard him called Hannibal or Mr Lecter... No, he’s Dr Lecter... Hello!—Here he is now...”

Will looks around. A figure had appeared beside them in the cafe, as if materialized out of nowhere, now seating himself on a chair next to the booth. 

He had expected to see an old, red-faced man, maybe with a grey moustache. But, not at all. 

Lecter was tall, had a disinterested, neutral eye and an energetic, supple way of moving. He looked not unlike an eccentric schoolmaster. His suit was a fashionable cut—a fact which made him stand out even more among the FBI-clones.

“Dr Bloom,” he said, brusque but warm. Hard-to-place accent. Will read him as one of those mysterious, wealthy-for-unknown-reasons "citizen of the world" types who's from everywhere and nowhere. The man was wearing canary-yellow socks.

“Hello, Dr Lecter, this is William Graham, Will, who I told you about. Oh, and here are the documents - sorry about the coffee stain on the cover!”

”Thank you, Alana.”

She passed the files to the doctor, who put them into an expensive-looking briefcase. Will noticed a padlock on it.

Will was not entirely convinced that he was going to be able to live up to whatever portrait his well-meaning but sometimes over-protective friend had painted of him to this psychologist 'genius'. Alana clearly saw the professor as a bit of a guru.  He was undeniably endowed with a kind of... magnetism.  


For some reason, Will was glad that Dr Lecter did not try and shake his hand.

Alana recognised a friend over Will's shoulder. “Gerry, hi!” She scooted around past him. “Sorry, I’ll just be one minute.” She jumped out of the booth to join a small group of people by the doorway.

For an uncomfortable period, Will silently submitted to an inspection by the piercing eyes of Dr Lecter.

  
“So, what’s going on? Something about a position?” Will asked Lecter, when it became clear the older man wasn’t going to speak first.

He wanted to add: The way you’re staring at me is making me nervous.

“Can you tell the typical differences between assassination and suicide? Between sadomasochism and sociopathy? Malingering and Stockholm Syndrome?” Dr Lecter asked. “As they manifest in a crime scene.”

This was enough to remove any doubts Will had about Dr Lecter being a very unusual man. What stupid, vague questions. And he asked them so abruptly.

“Learning to,” Will replied. Considering his past, he could not have avoided becoming something of a connoisseur of the flavours of human violence even if he tried.

“Your employment history does not concern me. Unless it involves the variations of the parallax of Aldebaran, in which case, I’ll pay you double to explain that too.” 

He paused as if there was a possibility that Will could respond with anything other than astounded silence. “Never mind,” the doctor continued with a wave of the hand. “What I really want to know is, can you handle violence? Extreme, unrelenting violence? Can you see sense in the gazelle’s throat ripped out, on loop,  ad infinitum? My last research assistant couldn’t stomach it.”

At that point, he made another up-and-down inspection of Will’s appearance (not that Will was making eye contact—he could just feel it somehow, like a laser beam scanning over him).

“I can work hard. I can read crimes.”

Why did he feel as if he wanted to impress the man? The doctor was ridiculous. Will didn’t understand why Alana liked him. She was usually a good judge of character.

“You will have to view images of things that will deeply disturb and maybe scar you. I will have to conduct frequent psychological tests to ensure you remain sane. And you need extensive training, probably 24/7 supervision to prepare you. My guest room isn’t ready yet, and I wasn’t expecting to begin again so soon. But it can be arranged.”

For the first time, Will looked up and locked eyes with him. The doctor's face was unreadable. He was joking, of course. Right?

What did he think was going to be to arranged? Was Will misreading the situation (it happened rarely, but occasionally, in fact, more and more these days)- but maybe this was how you joined part of a secret FBI project? No, even more ridiculous. Or just a type of work that was perfectly normal, but Will had never heard of?

“Would you mind giving me some more information, Dr Lecter?”

“This is what I propose. Later this evening, you come to familiarise yourself with my office. Alana will give you the address. Now, you go home and pack a small bag. We will travel tomorrow to the museum in Italy for a research trip, and I then will introduce you to some of my cases. Quite distinguished, some. Others, criminals—but they can be distinguished too, in their way.”

A pause.

“But, you can’t be serious,” Will said, laughing nervously. The doctor’s straight-lipped expression showed that he was earnest. “Why would you employ me without references? Why would that be in your interest? I can’t go to Italy!”

“Ask the fisherman his interest when he throws one back into the water.”

The doctor was becoming harder and harder to follow. Imperceptibly, as the conversation progressed, his personality shifted; his speech more refined and philosophical. It made Will feel like he was meeting multiple different men.

“Huh?” said Will, unable to think of another syllable that could so perfectly express his disorientation.

Thankfully, Alana returned. “Okay, I'm off." Shit.

“Give me a piece of paper before you go, Alana?” asked the doctor.

“Sure."

Alana ripped a piece out of her notebook and passed it to him. He pulled a silver fountain pen out of his pocket.

“Will, I’ll see you next week, right? Bye, Dr Lecter. Hey—guys—don’t leave without me! ”

She ran out after her friend.

The doctor passed the piece of paper to Will.

“Read that,” he said.

Will read, in a fine handwritten script: 10 o’clock, sharp.

“Do you understand all of it?”

“Yes."

(What could anybody not have understood? Was the doctor unsure if Will could read? Was there a secret message?)

“Good. if a woman with a fake leg approaches you and starts asking you for assistance. Ignore it. You do not need to bring a gun or weapon of any kind, as you will be in absolutely no danger.”

“Tonight, like, tonight?”

“Ask Alana—tell her, where I do my therapy. She’ll provide you with parking information. Unless you can’t drive?”

“I know how to drive.”

“Excellent. Oh! And one other thing. Please be sure to be cleanly shaven. I must be going now. I have a patient.”

“W-wait a second. Explain what’s happening.”

But it was as if the words did not even leave his lips. Perhaps they didn’t.

“A shipwrecked man whom the tempest has cast up onto foreign shores...” said the doctor dreamily. Was he quoting something? Did he actually speak like that? Lecter’s voice softened, becoming almost a purr: “Alana spoke very highly of you; I’m assuming you understand what an infrequent opportunity this is. Here is my hand, my friend. Now don’t try to determine what gloves I wear. If you persist, I will leave you to your fate behind mountains of paperwork in Behavioral Science. Don’t forget, shave, and wash your mouth with fluoride.”

Lecter placed down the coffee cup (he was wearing leather gloves) with a self-satisfied clink (he’d been drinking Alana’s leftover coffee), flicked a crisp banknote onto the table (that more than covered both drinks, twice), and slid into his coat and out of the booth before Will could so much as say ‘psychoanalysis.’

Will sat there while the waitress tidied away the plates. He stared at out the window of the restaurant, down at the note in his hands, and back again. The sky was very blue, and wide.

The doctor had made him deeply uneasy. He wondered what on earth Alana had said about Will... Should he accept the doctor’s invitation? If he was going to accept, he better get ready...

He turned the paper around. On the back, there was a miniature sketch of an eyeball.

**Author's Note:**

> Haven't written fanfiction for a long time. Would love feedback! Have an idea of where the story's going to go but would also happily take requests. <3
> 
> Constructive criticism would actually be great since I’m using this as a way to practice writing. Also hoping to make more friends in the fandom since my IRL ones don’t appreciate the joys of gay cannibal husbands.


End file.
